


hell or glory (i dont want anything in between)

by frankieroed



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: (shitty one but its there), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - I'm Not Okay Video, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, PWP, Silence Kink, blowjob, bully!frank, handjob, i forgot to tag that b4, idk mikey covers his mouth, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankieroed/pseuds/frankieroed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Frank started, panting slightly “I’m not a fag.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	hell or glory (i dont want anything in between)

**Author's Note:**

> god i havent written porn in so long sorry if its bad. let me know if there are any huge errors, im looking for a new beta right now but at the moment it's just me. im not sure what inspired this other than the idea of angry closeted frank tbh. i also put it as PWP but im not sure that it really counts lmao
> 
> title from fall out boy's she's my winona

If there was anything Mikey Way hated more than Frank Iero, it was waiting.

Waiting for Frank Iero? He would rather stick a hot needle into his eye.

Which is why as he sat behind the sheds at the back of the school, wasting _his_ personal time after school, waiting for Frank fucking Iero, he was less then pleased. He was actually fairly angry, kicking a stone next to his foot into the corrugated iron wall and fiddling with his sidekick.

Pete had already received six texts from Mikey in the span of him waiting for Frank, three of them were Billy Corgan lyrics (not Smashing Pumpkins though, Pete was still sensitive) and the remaining three were cryptic texts about dumb, dumb boys and their dumb, dumb hair and their dumb, dumb tardiness. Pete sent two texts back.

_no 1 says tardiness ne more mikeyway_

_gud luck w/ ur wooin mission_

Mikey had huffed and tucked his phone back into his blazer without responding because this was _not_ a wooing mission. This was a ‘what the fuck is your problem’ mission. A ‘fuck off my back’ mission. A ‘why are you such a fucking bully and how are you that cute when you do it’ mission. A ‘either leave me and my friends alone or jerk me off’ mission. Okay. So, maybe it was a bit of a wooing mission. A backwashed, upside down wooing mission.

To be fair, Frank had to have known something was going to go down. He did agree to meet Mikey after school, it wasn’t like Mikey was going to spring a surprise attack on him because Mikey weighed about three pounds soaking wet and had asthma and Frank, despite his outward appearance, was a strong mother fucker when he wanted to be.

He also had to know that Mikey wasn’t inviting him behind the sheds to play fucking marbles. When people go behind the shed, they either fight until someone ends up in the emergency room or fuck until someone ends up in the emergency room. Mikey, in his years of lurking outside clubs and dealing with his brother after some more rowdy parties, had learnt that there was a fine line between the two.

The thing is, Frank Iero wasn’t unattractive. He was, actually, incredibly attractive. It really wasn’t fair. Mikey liked pretty girls and pretty guys and Frank Iero really fit in both of those categories. Which was why, whenever he cornered Mikey in the hallways, shoving him against a locker or spitting at him in the courtyard, he wouldn’t really retaliate. Or even react. His face would stay buried in his sidekick and his feet would stay planted. This seemed to really tick Frank off, make him go harder, louder. Mikey secretly hoped it did.

And there was no way on God’s earth that Frank Iero was straight. No way. Mikey had a gaydar. Gerard really liked hearing about what he called Mikey’s ‘gift’. He would call up from SVA and ask him if he’d honed any homos or discovered any dick lovers. Mikey would hang up.

The point was that he could _tell_ and Frank fucking Iero was about as straight as a circle. Or maybe the dicks he drew everywhere. Which, _what the fuck¸_ that’s so gay.

So, Mikey was spending his afternoon waiting around for Frank straight as a circle, bully everyone, give Mikey inappropriate boners Iero so they could discuss Frank’s possible gayness and Mikey’s possible want of wanting that dick in his mouth and that really, really wasn’t cutting it for him. After about twenty minutes with no sign of the boy, Mikey huffed and started walking back to the bus stop, head bowed.

Which, of course, is when Frank Iero decided to show up and walk directly into Mikey. Well, to be more specific, Mikey’s shoulder. He was a short dude.

“The fuck, Way. Watch where you’re fucking going.” He pushed past Mikey, no eye contact made, and leaned against the shed, dropping his bag at his feet. He seemed in a rush. His hand rustled in his blazer for a second before he pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes and lit one, holding it loosely between his lips. Smoking behind the sheds. Mikey almost laughed at the cliché.

“Glad you finally decided to show. I was about to leave, actually. Thought you’d bitched out.”

Eye contact. Mikey’s heart squeezed, although the angry look in Frank’s eyes were signaling that his heart was not on the same page. Perhaps a different book.

Frank shrugged, looking back down, as if to say ‘I’m here now. Take it or leave it.’

Mikey could play that game.

“Frank, I think we need to talk.”

“Oh no, no, no, I don’t know what you’re thinking but I’m not gonna sit down and have a fucking counselling session with you, faggot. We’re here for one reason.” Mikey didn’t flinch.

“I wasn’t asking you to. What I was asking you is what problem you have with me and my friends.” He kept his voice even, stance still and eyes locked. Predator.

“Because you’re all fucking fags. Shouldn’t you be out blowing them anyway, where’s the rest of your gang, huh? No use showing up to a fight without a fucking audience.” Frank spat back, voice cracking slightly and hands shaking, eyes directed at Mikey’s shoes. Prey.

“Who said we were fighting, Frank?”

More eye contact. Mikey reveled in that shit.

“What the fuck, Way? You actually thought I would waste my time coming here to sit and have a pansy chat. What, did you bring knitting? Mugs of tea and cookies? Are we changing our names to Sharon and Debbie?”

Mikey snorted.

“I think you’d suit Margaret, actually.”

“Fucking weird.” Frank muttered, kicking the dirt under his heel, but that was definitely a smile. A tiny, tiny smile. But a smile nonetheless.

Mikey wasn’t there for smiles.

“Frank. Tell me what your problem is and I’ll fuck off.”

“There isn’t a problem, weirdo.”

“Don’t make me do this the hard way.” Mikey warned, watching the way Frank gnawed his lip, fascinated.

“You can’t try and tell me this is a fucking intervention. I’m fighting or I’m leaving.” Frank dragged a hand through his hair and rolled up the sleeves of his blazer. He breathed in a lungful of smoke before letting it out of the side of his mouth.

“Again, I never said we were fighting. I don’t want to talk either, I’m not your therapist. ”

More fucking eye contact.

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean, Way?”

Caught.

At this point, Mikey decided it could go two ways. Frank could freak, swing, run and Mikey would have an impressively dark bruise with a darker reputation suddenly hung over his head. Or he could find himself in a real life wet dream with Frank fucking Iero. He took the risk.

Stepping toward Frank, he shucked his blazer and rolled his sleeves. Frank looked apprehensive but his face hadn’t changed that much since he showed up.

He took another few steps until he was close, too close but not close enough. He reached the small distance towards Frank (who had frozen, eyes trained to Mikey’s and looking about ready to fuck someone up if he had to) and took the quickly dying cigarette from between frank’s pliant fingers. Without breaking eye contact, Mikey raised the stick to his lips and took a final drag before dropping it to his foot and crushing it. Mikey blew out the smoke to the left of Frank’s face and thought, _if it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen now. Fuck it,_ before leaning in and kissing Frank.

There was no face punching or groin kicking. There was however a boy attached to his face and _not moving at all what the hell, rude._

He pulled back.

Held eye contact.

A beat passed.

Then it all happened.

Frank gripped Mikey’s hair (despite its constant state of unwash) and pulled him in, lips smacking at the contact. Mikey was so there immediately, grabbing Frank’s hips, digging his palms into the hollows and his fingertips into the flesh hard enough to leave bruising. _Fuck_ he hoped there was bruising.

The actual kissing was something Mikey couldn’t quite fathom. Mikey had been kissed plenty, he was used to the concept, but Frank kissed different. Like every movement, every muscle, everything had 110% effort and energy put into it. Every ending he had seemed electrocuted and every pulse, push, pull, tug was completely _alive._

Mikey was blown away at how similar it was to what he had envisioned.

Frank’s hands dropped from where the rested against Mikey’s scalp to the back of his neck and Mikey inhaled fast because Frank was pulling on those fine hairs at the nape and he was digging that, a lot.

Mikey’s hands slid from Frank’s hips up to his chest and he pushed, Frank hitting the wall behind him with a bang and glazed eyes focusing and unfocusing on Mikey’s face.

Mikey would make a snide comment something to do with the fact the Frank’s slacks were tenting and his lips were slightly twitching but _his slacks were tenting and lips were slightly twitching, fuck._

“You know,” Frank started, panting slightly “I’m not a fag.”

Mikey snorted. Then crowded closer. Frank’s labored breaths hitched.

“We both know that’s not true, Frankie,” Mikey said quietly, resting his hands on Frank’s waist again lightly. He had room to run. They both knew that.

“Prove it, Way.” Frank’s voice was just over a whisper as he raised his head. The angry look in his eyes was replaced with one of want, _need_ and his hands were shaking. Mikey kissed him again, just to take away that smug little glint in his eye saying _’yes, I got what I wanted.’_

Mikey thought of himself as pretty good with dicks. Mainly his own, but he dabbled. He considered himself a bit of a dick pundit.  So dicks didn’t freak him. Most of the time.

Well, okay. Most of the experience he did have with other dicks was in dark bathroom stalls or alleys, where both members were hauled out, there was some form of collective jerking off and then there was orgasms. It was fine, good even. He just didn’t have that experience with a dick up close and personal. Therefore it was totally acceptable that he gasped, when his hand (which had crept from under Frank’s blazer, to his belt and directly into his slacks) grabbed Frank’s dick. It was a decent length, nearly fully hard (despite the lack of actual action) and Mikey suddenly was really, really, happy their encounter hadn’t gone sour. He was slightly red at the volume of the noise he made, though.

It was okay though, as Frank drowned out his noise with a moan that, okay, if they were trying to alert whoever was left on campus as to what was going down, they probably would succeed.

Mikey wasn’t having it.

His hand was over Frank’s mouth before his brain even processed a fully formed thought and the noise Frank let out was unbelievable. Mikey usually had a decent stamina but Frank was quickly breaking down his walls because, _seriously,_ of course the kid had a thing for being shut up. He was the loudest fucker in school what else would turn him on.

It was so surreal to Mikey, he had the hottest boy he’d ever seen’s dick in his hand, he wasn’t even doing anything with it just fucking gripping it like a tool, silencing him with a sweaty palm and watching him fall apart.

Gee was usually the metaphor brother but Mikey thought that was pretty damn beautiful.

“You look so fucking good like this, Frank, you have no idea. So fucking hot.” Mikey breathed as he slowly started jacking Frank’s dick. He didn’t have too much practice in this area when he was fully sober but he figured out pretty quickly it was just like jerking off, but backwards.

Frank didn’t seem to complain. His hands had reached Mikey’s hair again and he was just clinging, like he was going to collapse at any second.

His dick was hot and hard and Mikey never wanted to let go, just wanted to keep his hand stuck down Frank’s loose (thank God for white boy pant sagging) slacks forever.

There was drop of precum beading at the head that he watched carefully form, almost dribbling down Frank’s cock, before swiping his thumb over the crown and smearing it down the length. Frank’s hips jerked upwards, effectively fucking Mikey’s hand as he let out a whine that was embarrassing for even Mikey to hear.

Mikey, who had leaned down closer, nearly at eye level with Frank, began pressing kisses to Frank’s neck. They started gentle, light little pecks that turned into obnoxious, heavy, bruise making kisses and Mikey had a hot flash at the image of Frank trying to hide hickeys the next day. He dropped his head to Frank’s shoulder and groaned because _fuck._

Frank was breathing noisily above him (Mikey could feel the rushes of air over his knuckles), canting his hips into Mikey’s loose grip and making these fucking whimpers from the back of his throat like he had never, ever, been in a better situation. To be fair, Mikey couldn’t think of a moment he’d felt that good in a long time.

Frank’s tongue was lapping at Mikey’s palm and any other time it would have been disgusting but Mikey just found his dick twitching, straining against the cotton of his boxers and he honestly felt like if he tried hard enough, he could get off without a hand even reaching his dick. It wouldn’t even be embarrassing, he was too far gone for shame.

He did this _thing_ where he twisted his wrist and dropped back down, sliding his thumb upwards to press directly on the most sensitive part of the underside and Frank let out this strangled groan before his eyes opened slightly, locking on Mikey’s, pleading.

Feeling like he’d earned it, Mikey removed his hand and replaced it immediately with his mouth. The sudden change from his own dry lips where he’d been breathing through an open mouth to the warm, wetness of Frank’s mouth was welcomed.

Mikey tightened his grip and felt the silky head slip between the circle he’d made with his fingers, letting his mouth hang slack whilst Frank sucked and bit his bottom lip. Frank panted in between nips of his teeth and let out these loud fucking whines, turning into yelps as his dick pulsed. He pulled back, sucking in a sharp breath and whining loud enough Mikey swore he heard a window break.

He pressed their foreheads together, about ready for Frank to cum all over him and his hand. Frank’s eyes shot open and fucked his hips up one more time.

“Mikey,” He breathed before shooting all over Mikey’s shirt and hand, groaning. It was a lot of cum, Mikey thought he’d have to find a bucket or something.

 It belatedly occurred to Mikey that, shit, that was the first time Frank had ever called him by his first name. First time for everything, he supposed.

Frank slumped immediately, breath coming in longer pulses as he clung to the back of Mikey’s head. Curious, Mikey lifted the hand that was holding Frank’s spent dick and licked it a couple times. Could be worse, he supposed.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Frank stated, like he had come to that conclusion as he watched the other boy eat his cum. Mikey shrugged. Frank snuffed before pushing himself off the wall and onto Mikey, shoving his tongue back down his throat and grabbing at Mikey’s belt.

“Been, fuckin, thinking about this. So fucking much.” Frank mumbled, seemingly to himself as he pushed Mikey until he was sitting on the ground, kneeling between his legs. He shoved his hand inside Mikey’s boxers the moment his fly gave way and groped for his dick, groaning when he wrapped his fingers around the length, like he was about to get the fucking handjob. He slowly started jacking Mikey, pulling away from Mikey’s mouth to marvel at his own hand with wide eyes as if trying to figure out his next move at all times.

“’s weird. All backwards.” Mikey didn’t tell him he was thinking the same thing because he was supposed to know this shit. He was supposed to have enough experience for both of him and he had a weird feeling that if he didn’t, this would all stop.

To be fair, it wasn’t the worst handjob he’d ever had. Frank jerked him off like he kissed, eager and inexperienced. Mikey still grunted, kicked his hips and huffed encouragingly.

“I just wanna, can I just, fuck, hold on. I wanna try something.” Was all Frank got out before he was stooping lower and fucking _sucking Mikey’s dick._ Well, more licking and drooling on it but still. Mouth. Dick. Even better, Frank’s mouth, Mikey’s dick. That day couldn’t have gone better.

“Oh, fuck, Frank. So good. So good for me.” Mikey praised, running a hand through the boys hair and letting his head roll backwards.

His orgasm hit him faster than he had been expecting, stuttering out a warning to Frank. He managed to pull back and wrap his hand back around Mikey as he came in long, hot strips. All over Frank’s face. If Mikey wasn’t mid-orgasm, he might have cum again just looking at Frank’s slack jaw and pretty painted eyelashes.

He eventually re-opened his eyes and stared at Mikey.

Frank lasted around six seconds before hastily getting to his feet, scrubbing his face with his blazer sleeve and grabbing one strap of his bag, hauling it on the wrong shoulder.

“This never fucking happened, faggot.” Were his last words before he raced away. Mikey smiled to himself, tucking his dick away and getting himself together.

Predator. Prey.

**Author's Note:**

> comment/kudos/criticism are appreciated as always
> 
> follow me at deadricky.tumblr.com and talk to me abt pete wentz


End file.
